Coming Home
by BelovedShadow
Summary: Izumo doesn't anticipate any ill-effects of inviting Yata to stay with him at his apartment during the renovation of HOMRA's basement. Despite having harbored romantic feelings for the vanguard for as long as he can remember, he sees no possibility for anything to go wrong. Of course, he might not have expected it to go so right.


**Word Count:** 4425 **  
Rated:** M+ (strong language and a mild sprinkle of smut)  
 **Pairing(s):** Izumo Kusanagi X Misaki Yata **  
Summary:** Izumo doesn't anticipate any ill-effects of inviting Yata to stay with him at his apartment during the renovation of HOMRA's basement. Despite having harbored romantic feelings for the vanguard for as long as he can remember, he sees no possibility for anything to go wrong. Of course, he might not have expected it to go so right.

* * *

 **COMING HOME**  
 _By BelovedShadow_

The desire to renovate the bar was one that Izumo had been harboring for quite some time. He didn't want to do anything _too_ drastic, of course. He understood that his business was _nearly_ perfect already, and needed very little work. However, he was a man that believed constant improvement was a necessity to keep moving forward in life. And, as such, when he saw the opportunity to touch-up on some minor imperfections, he took it.

The basement needed more work than anything, so the bartender had decided to focus most of his attention _there_ , creating a bit of a space conflict when he realized that this was going to, in effect, put Yata out of house and home for the eight weeks it'd take for the work to be completed. Of course, the vanguard seemed not to mind for the first couple of days, working around the contractors with little a complaint to Izumo one way or the other, and sleeping on the upstairs couch when the fumes downstairs were too much on his lungs.

It wasn't until the end of the first week, when Izumo had come to the bar to see Yata making a futile attempt at getting the dustings of plaster out of his hair, that he put his foot down on the matter and announced that the boy would be staying with him at his apartment until the work was done and that was _that_.

Yata had opened his mouth to protest, but when a chunk of dry-wall hit the floor as soon as he attempted to move his body, it was settled.

That night, Izumo had gone home and re-arranged his office, which was supposed to be a _guest room_ , so that there was actually enough space to use the bed in there without running into stacks of paperwork or books. When he'd finished, he'd picked up Yata from the bar, given him a copy of the keys to his place, and left it at that.

The redhead didn't seem to think living with Izumo necessarily meant spending more time with Izumo. At least, not for the first week he was there. Mainly, the kid just _slept_ in the guest room, still living the vast majority of his waking hours back at the bar, or somewhere else in the city.

Weeks two and three were much the same as week one, only he saw Yata a lot more in passing. He'd taken to showering here, rather than at HOMRA, and on occasion took his breakfast here as well when he remembered to eat. Izumo's habits were changing just a bit, too. Though, in more subtle ways than he could put his finger on. He just found himself more … observant, of Yata somehow. An itch that he had long-since rubbed salve into and forgotten insisted to be scratched, and he could not, for the life of him, remember what he'd concocted to soothe it in the past.

Week four was _hot_. Summer announcing its presence with much grandeur and self-to-do. The sun beamed down unforgivingly, and Izumo refused access to the bar unless it was night; not wanting to pay the price of forcing the air conditioner to compete against the light of day. This left him and Yata with a lot of time alone together in his apartment, which Izumo spent much of sprawled out in only his boxer-briefs against the cool marble tile of the kitchen floor. This also conveniently placed him directly beneath his water-cooler. Meaning, he could simply reach up and have a refreshing splash of liquid drizzle down right into his mouth. This sloppy action always drew a peculiar sort of stare from Yata, who on a daily basis made a huge fuss about having to step over Izumo's "naked" body just to get food. Izumo ignored the griping altogether. He was firstly, glad that Yata was finally comfortable enough to complain about _anything_ in the apartment, and secondly, much too hot to fight.

What was odd, was that his _guest_ seemed not to mind the weather at all, if his attire was the deciding factor. He remained fully dressed at all times unless he was walking back from the bathroom to the guest room. Izumo refused to think too hard on why he felt so thoroughly annoyed by this, so he decided that he was jealous of the boy's tolerance of the heat.

Week five was the first time _it_ happened. The heat had abated someone, soothing itself into a more cheerful barmy warmth than an aggressive stroke-inducing assault. Izumo was busy most of the time, leaving early and coming home late in his attempts to scramble together everything he'd lost track on during his week indoors. Mostly that just meant inventory and upkeep of the bar, but he did notice that Yata was back at the apartment more often than not. This was a good thing, he believed. The kid must have started to see the place as _home_ rather than a spot for him to sleep. It warmed Izumo's heart, in a strange way, and he smiled every time he came back to the apartment and realized Yata was already there.

Well, until _one time_. He had come in and heard music blasting over the intercom, which was remarkable considering most days Yata claimed not to even understand how to use the damn thing. Izumo, annoyed by the sound, had shut the song off without a word before getting started on making himself dinner. He had half a mind to expect Yata storming into the kitchen, inquiring over why his private party had been starkly interrupted, but no such thing happened. The place was, for the most part, quiet.

But the quiet did odd things to high-ceilings. Sound traveled well in Izumo's lofty home, and once his pans had stopped sizzling, he could swear he heard a call of his name … softly, but still there.

"What?" He called back, frowning when he received no reply. Whatever. Maybe Yata was just cursing him under his breath for something or another. Living together with someone for the first time, no matter how temporary, was sure to provide its minor annoyances.

It wasn't until the middle of week six, when this occurrence had happened more than _three times_ , that Izumo started to get a little perturbed. If Yata wanted to blast music, fine. If Yata was annoyed with him, then _fine_ , but if he was going to be whining out Izumo's name like that on a fuckin' daily basis, then they clearly had something that needed to be talked about. Surely, the vanguard assumed that his near-silent mutterings were not _heard_ , but they _were_ , and Izumo was beginning to wonder what he'd done wrong. And, also, why Yata talked to himself so damn much…

So, near the _end_ of week six, (Friday, to be sure) he came home, flicked the music off, and then marched directly to the guest room and opened the door without knocking. This was, he realized _right away_ , a mistake.

Because he understood that Yata wasn't talking to himself. Or muttering insults under his breath. Or doing anything else other than having his privacy completely and utterly violated by someone he had put his trust into.

"Shit! Sorry, I – fuck, sorry."

It was a testament to his own continuous denial that he managed not to analyze his own behavior at all. Namely that he had, once walking in to see Yata partaking in a rather normal episode of _masturbation_ , managed to apologize profusely – but made absolutely no effort to _leave the room_.

The redhead – thoroughly embarrassed, had yanked the covers up to his chin so quickly that his actions might have easily been forgotten, were it not for the tent still poking at the thin material. And the cherry-red blush covering his face. Likely, covering his entire body. This was probably an awkward time to ask to see, though.

"This is awkward," Izumo pointed out, biting his lip just the slightest and glancing at the wall and then back at Yata, whose eyes were still wide with shock, face getting even _redder_ as the seconds ticked by.

"Mr. Kusanagi," He muttered out, and Izumo almost _flinched_ because he remembered quite _suddenly_ just what the sound was that kept drawing him _here_. Hold on … Had Yata been—"Mr. Kusanagi are you, um … gonna _go_?"

It wasn't something he'd even considered, if he was being perfectly frank. Perhaps, now more than ever, he should attempt to face the _why_ of that, for what it really was. Yata was a grown adult man, after all. There really was no reason _left_ why he should keep quiet about this little … problem, he'd discovered so very long ago. Of course, Izumo wasn't very good at facing things head-on when it came to the more emotional parts of life, so instead of answering Yata's question _or_ his own, he came over to sit on the bed. Yata, of course, squeaked _very_ loudly in clear opposition to this development.

"Last week," He began, fingers picking at the sheets, nose inhaling the _scent_ of Yata's arousal, which had grown heady and prominent in the room after what was clearly several days in a row of self-inflicted pleasure, "I came home, and you were playing music. I turned it off, and I could have _sworn_ , a few minutes later, that I heard you say-"

"Could you _get out_?" Yata pleaded, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, fingers digging at the front of his scalp. Izumo decided he liked the way his hair was tangled over his forehead.

"I'm really not handling this situation well, am I?" He murmured, halfway to himself, leaning back and letting himself fall onto the bed, head resting against Yata's calves, urging a disagreeing yelp from the other, "I know this is a total violation of your privacy and your personal space, and for that I truly, _truly_ apologize, Yata. This'll be the first and last time I'm this insensitive towards either of those things, I promise. I just … I came up here to talk to you. About _us_. To see if we were doing okay, y'know?"

His hand patted uselessly at his pocket, hoping for his pack of cigarettes, and coming up short. He's surprised when Yata shifts over enough to reach into the end table and passes him one.

"Shit, thanks." He accepted, bringing the thing to his lips and lighting it with a flick of the fingers, inhaling deeply.

"You leave em fuckin' everywhere…" Yata stated, eyes staring the opposite direction of Izumo, suddenly paying unwavering attention to the red oak wood of the desk. He should've moved all his office shit out of here. It must suck to constantly be surrounded by his clutter.

"Well, thanks anyway,"

The vanguard nodded, throwing an arm over his eyes and sighing deeply. He seemed to have gained some sort of acceptance that Izumo was not going to allow him to back out of this conversation no matter what direction it went. Izumo himself was mildly more preoccupied with the fact that without his hands grasping at the covers they were free to slip down past Yata's chest, pebble-hard nipples exposed to the air-conditioned cold of the room.

"I'm sorry," Yata said, almost too quietly to hear, and Izumo noticed a feint dampness building beneath where his arm pressed into his eyes. His own hazel orbs widened, not understanding what had upset the boy so much, feeling like complete and utter shit for barging in and refusing to go. He wanted to rise to leave, to try and just forget about this whole embarrassing situation, but there was something _ingrained into him_ that wouldn't let Yata just cry by himself.

"Hey, don't cry…" He insisted, sitting up to thread his fingers through ruby tresses of hair, pulling it away from the still tomato-toned face, and soothing it down worriedly, "What's wrong? Why're you apologizing?"

Yata sniffled lightly, trying to rub the tears away from his eyes to no avail, as fresh saltwater beaded at the corners immediately, "You … you _heard me_ … and came to-to talk to me about … to see if we're _okay_ ," He repeated Izumo's own words back to him, and the blond realized how they must have sounded to someone who was, well, in _Yata_ 's position rather than his own.

"Huh?! No. No, no. I heard you saying _my name_ ," He specified, hard pressed not to blush himself as the pieces began forming together, "I thought you were um … talking to yourself. About how I'm a shitty roommate. Or something like that."

Honey-golden eyes blinked open wide, gazing at Izumo in surprised confusion, a shaky breath wracking through Yata's exposed chest, lungs inhaling and exhaling hard. Izumo was afraid for a moment that the boy was going to start hyperventilating, but he got a hold of himself just quickly enough for the elder not to worry.

"Of course not, you're …" Yata seemed to reconsider what he was going to say, and adjust it, "Not a shitty roommate."

Naturally, Izumo understood that _now_. He had to bite his tongue to resist making some kind of crude joke about how he was clearly a pretty _damn good_ roommate, but managed not to further embarrass his temporary housemate. He was, after all, still doing a pretty top-quality job of ignoring his own feelings for Yata. Had been for _years_. Yes, knowing that the younger male apparently fantasized about him sexually made it a bit more difficult, but he was still determined to put on a good show, at _least_ to himself.

"Well, that's good to know," He allowed, fingers still thoroughly entwined with Yata's hair despite the tears having already abated, "If we stopped getting along I don't think I could—"

 _Whoa there_. What happened to his solid and impenetrable wall of reserve? Maybe they were just sitting too close. How could he ignore the beating of his own heart when he could feel the pulse in Yata's neck against the palms of his hands? Did they not beat the same?

"Fuck," He whispered, the overwhelming swell of affection that he felt for the creature before him swelling hot and heavy in his chest, refusing to dissipate no matter what he did. Was Yata destroying him, or reviving him? He'd never known. Maybe that's why it terrified him so much.

"If we stopped getting along you don't think you could fuck?" Yata asked, brow raising in a teasing manor. Of course he wasn't being serious, and his eyes were still red and puffy, cheeks still sticky from salt-water sorrows, "I guess everyone's got their flaws, Mr. Kusanagi, but I never pegged you for _impotence_."

Jaw dropping in mock offense, Izumo, with private reluctance, tore one hand away from Yata to clutch it over his own heart, appearing thoroughly affronted for all intents and purposes.

"I _beg your pardon_!" He scoffed, "I'll have you know that even to _imply_ such a thing is ridiculous, and if you refuse to believe me, I'll be forced to prove it."

When Yata's eyes widened it made his entire face more juvenile. Oddly, this was something Izumo found to be only further attractive, rather than icking him out as it normally would have with anyone else. It was what had bothered him the _most_ , he remembered, when he'd first discovered this little … tick in his side. The age. His feelings for Yata had begun when they were _barely appropriate_ , which had thoroughly discouraged him from acting on them for so long that it was now almost ingrained into him that they were something he was meant to ignore.

Somehow, he was being unraveled. Yata was sputtering with embarrassment, and Izumo rolled his eyes, wondering how it was that the vanguard didn't realize how wide-open he'd left himself for that one.

"Mr. Kusanagi … are you … are you _flirting_ with _me_?"

It wasn't the first time he'd done it, but it was ostensibly the first time Yata had noticed.

"Yes," He answered, with a light smile, "How am I doing?"

His cigarette was in severe need of ash-ing, and he reached around Yata's torso to flick it against the granite top of the end table, vowing to clean that up later. The action, of course, brought them even closer than they had been, Izumo now all but straddling Yata's body, their thighs parallel, his weight leaning heavily into the smaller body.

"Er—Pretty okay?" The redhead answered, cheeks blushing hot red again after having _just_ relaxed into complacency.

"Good cus it's either about to get a lot better or a lot worse," He warned, only catching the confusion on Yata's face for a brief moment before he connected their lips in a kiss.

He could taste the salt from Yata's tears against his mouth when his tongue swiped across, one hand rested on the back of his neck; now craftily used to pull the smaller body closer to his, deepening the kiss as soon as he felt even the most feint motions of reciprocation. And, they _were_ feint, an oddity as he could feel the pitter-patter of the vanguard's heart, beating faster by the second. It was clear that desire was building back up in him, but he still kissed back so … shyly.

The whisper of a breath huffed out of Yata's nose, mouth opening just the slightest bit to accept Izumo's prodding tongue, a high whimper exuding through his throat. Izumo felt the vibration of it against his fingertips, and his breath quickened, delving deeper in his exploration, the kiss getting so hot and hard so _quickly_ , Yata squirming beneath him, smaller hands touching Izumo's shoulders, and then arms, and back … anywhere that they could reach, it seemed.

The rumors were true, he realized. Yata was a virgin. Not just in the literal _penetrative_ variety. But completely. Pure as the driven snow. He didn't know what to _do with his hands_. How to move his body against another's to make himself feel good. He was operating on sheer sensation, fingers wringing wrinkles into the linen of Izumo's button-down, even as they _trembled_ against him.

He pulled back, for a moment, resting their foreheads together and letting Yata catch his breath. He doubted he'd ever encounter another virgin after this one, but he might want to make a mental note not to kiss them so … thoroughly. There was a cloudy vacancy in those honey-toned eyes, that snapped into a hot and passionate stare a moment later when they met Izumo's, and the transition was so sudden and yet _organic_ on Yata's face that it had Izumo hardening uncomfortably in his pants.

Now see, that would have been an easy problem to fix. With anyone else.

But the thought of hurting Yata, whether it be emotionally or physically, was one that hurt Izumo all by itself without him even having done anything. Besides, he'd been the one to, ah, _interrupt_ , as it were. It wasn't his own pleasure that he should be focusing on, if anything.

"Is this okay?" He breathed out, concern lacing his expression now that Yata had _outed_ himself subconsciously, "I didn't mean to be so forward with you, it's just—"

"Mr. Kusanagi…" Yata's tongue darted out to wet his lips and Izumo was hard pressed not to catch it between his teeth, "Don't stop,"

Again, he is caught off guard by his own name. Because this time, just then, it sounds _exactly_ as it did the first time, when he'd been in the kitchen, and so sure that he hadn't heard it at all. How could he have forgotten that Yata _wanted this_? He'd wanted it before Izumo had even realized he'd wanted it, and that Izumo treating him like a porcelain doll when he was an adult man was, frankly, insulting.

He sat back, swinging one leg over so that he really _was_ straddling Yata, butt pressed against the top of his knees. It tugged the sheet down as he adjusted himself, but he minded not at all, eyes dragging over all of the freshly-exposed flesh, especially as he got to the more interesting bits, wetting his own lips at the sight of Yata's cock, hard and sticking upwards, pink head jutting out of pale foreskin teasingly. He tried not to stare for long, not wanting to embarrass his companion, but unable to keep from taking just a _little_ look.

" _You_ don't stop," His eyelashes fluttered as he brought his hazel gaze to Yata's eyes, mouth half-crooked upwards, "Show me what you've been getting up to in here all by your lonesome," He prodded, fingers trailing down Yata's shoulder and arm until they reached his wrist, gently tugging the smaller hand back down to where he was _sure_ it had been before he barged in.

Surprisingly, Yata didn't argue, although he did bite his lip, cheeks flaming and eyes like saucers. His hand remained still for a second, just _resting_ on his erection a little stupidly, blinking so rapidly that it exposed each ounce of his inexperience, and Izumo, somehow, was even _harder_ at this development.

"Did you need help?" He asked, Yata's jaw falling slack when his superior wrapped slender digits around his hand, wrapping both of their grips around the hard cock and squeezing firmly, pulling down first, letting the pretty pink head fully expose itself, and then upwards again, hiding it behind that thin coat of flesh. Izumo continued guiding the younger male's movements, going faster, more urgently. Yata didn't make a sound, looking only _shocked_ , as if he honestly could not believe any of this was happening, even as his chest heaved and his legs shook. He was getting so close, and so quickly. Izumo deduced that just because he was an avid masturbator didn't mean he'd gotten _good_ at it, and wondered how long the kid had even been touching himself. Surely not long enough if a hand job was worth such fuss.

It only encouraged him to introduce the younger male to something vastly more intense. Pulling his hand away, he smiled, just briefly, when he noted that removing his own hand did not deter the motion of Yata's own. The small palm still fisted eagerly at turgid flesh, eyes now squeezed shut, mouth hanging open.

He let himself sink down lower on Yata's body, bony knees pressing against Izumo's ribs, his own eyes looking up at Yata's face, spying ecstasy there already, and the child was still so _ignorant_ to all the wonders and possibilities out there for him. Izumo vowed that he would, if allowed, make an effort to someday show him every single one.

And then, with a gentle nudge to pry Yata's hand away from his cock, he watched for a moment as annoyed eyes blinked open, and then witnessed the expression transition from irritation to euphoria in seconds as he lowered his mouth down onto the heated flesh, swallowing down Yata's entire shaft with well-practiced ease, ignoring the strong twitch it produced in his own cock, the dampness of precum becoming uncomfortable and surely staining a spot into his pants.

"Ah-Mmn—! Mr. Kusanagi, _hnng…._ "

Finally, a vocal response. He hummed deep in his throat, beginning to bob up and down with careful slow motions. He could feel the tightness in Yata's balls up against his chin, and knew that to prolong this experience was near impossible – especially when it'd started _without him_.

Yata's hands rested on his shoulders, blunt nails tickling at the skin there as Izumo, unable to stop himself, increased his pace just the slightest bit, his own hands holding firmly to Yata's thighs, using them as leverage to lift up and sink back down onto the swollen muscle, brutally fucking his own throat with Yata's cock in his enthusiasm, pulling an actual _scream_ from the boy he was so eagerly pleasuring.

He felt the familiarity of the red aura, spiking almost violently against his own skin, and bucked his hips down against the bed, near orgasm himself without ever even having exposed his cock to the naked air, just from the reactions he was coaxing out of Yata's body. Leg's trembled so severely that he had to tighten his grip to keep them still.

" _Oh_! P-please, Mr. Kusanagi … _shit_ I'm so close to—Mmpf!"

Closer than he'd expected, it seemed, because moments later Izumo's mouth was filling with hot cum, which he drank up like a parched man, moaning at the taste. His tongue lapped at Yata's cock until it went soft – or as soft as a well-libido'd young man's cock was gonna _get_ with someone still licking it.

It wasn't until he looked back up at Yata's eyes that he came himself, with a soft whimper, mildly pissed that he'd just finished in his pants, but too drugged on the twitching's of an orgasm to worry too much over it. It was what he _saw_ there. What was there each day, he realized. Waiting for him to notice it, to speak on it, to acknowledge it enough for it to really, really _mean_ something.

Of course, Yata never being one to allow subtlety to suffice when the obvious was also an option, also saw fit to _speak_ on what Izumo could already see clear as day.

"Mr. Kusanagi, is it okay if I might have … accidentally, fallen in love with you?"

Izumo laughed a little manically, having been in love with Yata and telling himself he _couldn't be_ for so long that it almost made him sick to his stomach.

"Yeah," He answered, "But ya gotta let me love you back on purpose,"

Yata's grin spread across his face like the sun rising after years of darkness and Izumo scooted up to kiss him before he overthought it. He needed to be done overthinking everything. Well, maybe not _everything_. But everything pertaining to Yata for sure.

"Okay…" Yata agreed with a nod, wrapping his arms around Izumo's waist and leaning his head into his chest.

It didn't feel _new_ , Izumo realized. Loving Yata wasn't fresh or exciting, or intoxicating, or hypnotizing. He didn't feel dizzy or stupid, or like walking on air. Just warm. It was warm, and deep, and pumping through his veins like it was always meant to be there. As natural and easy as waking up to go out and greet the day each morning. As cozy and fulfilling as coming back home.

 **A/N: Wow it's been a long time since I posted anything here~! Hope you guys aren't too pissed off at me lmao.**

 **Anyway, I would love any feedback anyone would like to give, and as I expect to be composing a proper chapter fic for these two guys soon, do feel free to subscribe for more of this pair!**

 **I, as always, love each and every one of my readers. Especially YOU.**

 **-Beloved**


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